Page 29 of Silver Edge
My stupid shoulders rose and fell once more.
“You said you…fucked your foster father. Have you ever been intimate with anyone? I mean, loved someone instead of just having sex with them?”
I thought about it. “Sex is usually something I do to feel a release of sorts. It’s always been quick. I can’t stand much more than that.” A shiver hopped from rib to rib along my spine until it reached the back of my neck at the thought of prolonged exposure to sticky skin and bad breath.
“I haven’t, either. Despite all the women I’ve been with, I’ve never made love to any of them. I mean, they left as satisfied as I did, but I never emotionally connected with any of them.”
I thought for a moment and decided to reciprocate the movement of his thumb, brushing it over his knuckles. He sighed and closed his eyes.
“I won’t ask you to tell me anymore about your past right now, but if and when you’re ready, I’ll listen to anything you want to share. Know this, though, Scarlet.”
“What?” I continued to brush my thumb over his skin, feeling each little bump and groove, but it didn’t send horrific chills deep inside my bones.
“You’re something special.” Drake looked at the clock then back at me. “Listen, I need to get going, so go shower and I’ll be back in a few. We can talk more on the way.”
“Where are we going?” I asked, still trying to catch up with our conversation and where he was going with all this.
“To visit my grandmother. I go every Sunday since my parents passed. It’s up in the Georgia Mountains and I don’t want to miss seeing her, so go get ready. We’ll work in the car on the way.”
“I don’t have any clothes except what I’m wearing,” I protested. “Besides, isn’t it a little early to introduce me to your relatives? I’ve never been introduced to family before. I mean, she’s gonna take one look at me and wonder why her Ivy League grandson is with some streetwalker. Don’t get me wrong. I’m fine with who I am now. I don’t want to change for anyone, but she’s never going to understand a girl with purple hair and tattoos.”
“Have I lied to you yet?”
A lava-like burn seared my stomach at the thought of meeting family. I’d lost mine so long ago, I could barely remember what it felt like. Having to remember manners, make eye contact, shaking hands, avoiding curse words, and just generally acting like a human being. Too much. It was way too much. But still, I shook my head.
“Then get in that shower. It’s time to go meet Nana.”
Chapter Thirteen
I stepped from the cracked tile shower and wrapped a towel around my body. The fresh scent reminded me of my mother’s sheets. I hadn’t smelled that crisp outdoor aroma since childhood. It was funny how a certain smell or sound could draw me back in time to over a decade ago.
I leaned against the sink and wrapped my arms around myself. “Mom, I’m sorry I didn’t make you proud, but I’m going to now.”
My skinny jeans, long-sleeve T-shirt, and underclothes lay on the linoleum floor. The thought of putting them back on my clean skin made me cringe. Holding the towel tight, I opened the bathroom door and leaned out. “Drake? You there?”
No answer.
Avoiding my T-shirt, bra, and undies, I slid on my jeans, figuring going commando was best at this point. Perhaps he had a T-shirt I could borrow. Leaving the warm, steamy bathroom behind, I trotted down the hall to his office, but there was no sign of him or any clothes. Then I recalled the boxes of band merchandise downstairs. I could buy one of the T-shirts.
After a quick glance over the balcony, I tightened the towel around my breasts and headed for the stairs. At the bottom, I spotted the baby grand piano tucked into the wing off stage. The music Drake played the other day whirled through my brain and I longed to finish the song, a calling to complete something left unfinished. I had to fix the off beats and mismatched rhythms.
I shuffled in my bare feet to the piano bench, sat down, and secured my towel so it wouldn’t fall. Arching my fingers, I brushed my hand against the smooth, ivory keys. It had been years since I played, not since three foster homes ago. I never had a lesson and still couldn’t read sheet music, but I could feel it as if the music in my brain had overflowed and spilled down into my fingers.
My fingers settled on the piano keys, my hands arched, and my brain shifted to the slow, sensual sound of Drake’s song.
My eyelids closed, sealing the surrounding room from my consciousness. That inexplicable yearning inside me conjoined with the melody. I surrendered to the sensual soiree, the higher notes promenading with the grace of a champion ballroom dancer. My shoulders rose and fell with thetete-a-tete.
I played as if the piano breathed for me, thought for me, lived for me. Note after note, I felt love, loss, longing. Tears trickled over my cheeks and into my mouth. I tasted the sadness of Drake’s song, the same sadness I had lived.
I slid my hands to the bass keys and pounded the approach of danger. Deep, hollow, broken. I found where Drake had faltered in the song. My breath was shallow, but I played on. The melody crescendoed to a battle cadence.
Da-drum. Da-drum. Da-drum.
Faster, faster, faster.
The song peaked, a high, mountainous peak. Energy faded, and the beats trailed into a sweeping calm. My fingers fell from the keys. I slumped, exhausted.
The floor creaked and I jolted. Drake dropped his bag, a flash of intense emotion. I flinched, waiting for the anger I knew was coming to rule his fists.
